


into the sunset

by Siria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, and fights for some measure of calm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	into the sunset

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lamardeuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/gifts).



> For lamardeuse, as a belated birthday gift. Thanks to sheafrotherdon for betaing!

Danny pinches the bridge of his nose, closes his eyes, and fights for some measure of calm. It's been a long day, it's been a _very_ long day already, for all that it's barely even noon. "No," he says, slicing one hand through the air in a sharp declaration of discontent. "I'm calling in my executive veto on this one, Steven. No."

Steve wrinkles his nose. "What're you talking about, executive veto? You don't have a—"

"Yes, yes, I do, after the time with the hand grenade and my _car_ , the car which I use to transport my _daughter_ , I initiated a—"

"—because I'm just saying, wielding a veto requires some sort of authority, Danno, and I'm technically your boss." Steve has the temerity to look smug, like he thinks pulling out that little titbit of information is enough to shut down the conversation, game over, victory for McGarrett. It's like he's never even met Danny.

"There's always a veto," Danny says through gritted teeth, "when it comes to _horses_."

Steve rolls his eyes. "Come on, Danny. Mabel here wouldn't hurt a fly." He slaps the horse on the rump; the horse snickers softly and side steps a little, like she's embarrassed to be here. Danny can't say he blames her.

"Look," he says, folding his arms and trying not to wince at the way even that simple gesture makes every single bruise on his body light up—and since he'd had to jump out of a crashing helicopter not that long ago, that's an awful lot of bruises. "Why don't you ride Magda here—"

"Mabel," Steve says, with every appearance of patience. Steve can be a very good actor when he wants to be, the fucker.

"— _whatever_ , back down the mountain and I'll just stay here and wait for the rescue chopper, huh?"

"Because," Steve says, "you might have a concussion, or some other sort of internal injury that makes leaving you alone up here for any length of time irresponsible and reckless—"

"Oh, _now_ you think those attributes are bad things?" Danny says, spreading his arms wide. "Really, this is what it takes?" He's barely finished speaking before several hundred yards behind them, the flames reach the chopper's gas tank and it goes up with a _whumpfh_ that's more felt than heard. Danny sighs. He hopes that the fact that one of Honolulu's main drug dealers now comes in Crispy Fried rather than Regular variety doesn't damage their case too much—if he had to go through all of this _and_ lose his favourite tie to bloodstains for nothing, Danny's unhappiness is going to be of the kind that others know all about. Loudly.

"You're getting on the horse, Danny," Steve says in his best Navy SEAL voice, face all closed off on stoic. As if that routine's ever worked on Danny—hell, as if it's ever worked on any of the Five-0. Chin just arches an eyebrow at it; Kono clean her guns slowly and with great purpose in the middle of the office; even Jenna's learned to roll her eyes at it by now.

"And I'm saying that there's no way in hell I'm getting on any horse, let alone one where I have to sit behind you, okay? You sweet talk a lady into following you, huh, and _this_ is the one time you don't get her to bring along her sister?"

Mabel snorts in approval. Steve blinks at him.

"What," Danny says, "you think I didn't notice what you got up to in that club when we were working the Jimenez case? Because I did, my friend, I did—so did a lot of other people. Chin had to go home and disinfect his eyeballs, poor guy, he's not old enough to see the kind of shit you pulled with—"

Steve's grin is sudden and blinding, an expression of such unabashed happiness that it leaves Danny nonplussed.

"What?" Danny says. " _What_?"

"You," Steve says, pointing at him. "You think I'm a smooth talker."

Danny splutters. That is not what he said. That is not what he _meant_. "Of _horses_!"

"You think I have skills," Steve says, and surely no one has ever before looked so smug as Steven J. McGarrett in this moment. "But also you should still get on the horse, Danny. I mean it, we need to get you looked over, okay?" And goddamn but if he hasn't decided to go with the sincere face for once; the one that says well sure, you don't have to let Steve walk all over your life in his big ole size 12s, but you'd be mean not to.

Danny rubs at his forehead. He can feel the beginning of a tension headache, one which he senses is going to take half a bottle of Ibuprofen to quell, he's got some bruised ribs going on, he's never going to be able to salvage any of this outfit. It's probably time to cut his losses. "Okay," he says, holding up a quelling hand because it looks like Steve's gearing up to say something else and Danny's not in the mood for that right now. "Okay, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to let you _assist me_ in getting on that horse which we will _jointly guide_ down this mountain, okay? And when we get to the bottom, we're going to go to the emergency room where the nice people will bandage me up and you, Steven, are not going to tell them anything about me having to ride on a horse in front of you like some damsel in distress. You got that?"

"You could ride behind me," Steve says, like that's helpful.

"I will hit you," Danny says flatly.

"But I wouldn't worry about it," Steve continues, radiating such innocence it would make any sane person suspicious, "no one's going to think you're a damsel, Danny. You're from Jersey. You don't get damsels in Jersey." Fucker.

"So much hate," Danny mutters.

Steve shrugs. "You don't hate me, Danno."

"Maybe not," Danny admits grudgingly as he carefully clambers up onto Mabel's broad back. Steve, being Steve, has to vault onto the horse behind Danny like he's auditioning for a part in a Robin Hood movie or some shit—doesn't even need to use the stirrups. "But I'm just saying, for our next anniversary, nothing is going to blow up, okay? No one's going to get taken hostage by evil drug lords, no one's going to have to mount rescue operations armed only with an elderly horse and a goddamn machete."

He can practically feel Steve pout. "You're no fun."

"So I've been told," Danny says dryly, but sighs when he feels Steve kiss the back of his neck. "Home, Jeeves." Steve points Mabel in the right direction and she ambles off down the slope, sure-footed and in no particular rush; and if they're not quite riding off into the sunset together, well, Danny'll take what he can get.


End file.
